


Five Kisses

by Janina



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, contains some spoilers for the season 6 episode 10 preview, mentioned smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:18:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7259677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/pseuds/Janina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five kisses that Jon and Sansa have shared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Kisses

Who would have thought that a simple kiss to the forehead would have been the start of something? Sansa certainly hadn’t expected things to happen as they did, but she certainly wasn’t going to complain. Happiness in this world wasn’t something that came easily, and she knew better than most than when it came along, you held onto it tightly. 

Sansa never meant to let go. 

She counted the forehead kiss Jon had given her as kiss number one. 

That kiss had been the start of their relationship. It was after they’d reclaimed Winterfell from Ramsay, sent Melisandre away after discovering what she’d done to Shireen, and after Petyr had made the plea for her to marry Sweetrobin that they’d discussed trusting one another. After all they’d been through it was hard to trust anyone, even family – Sansa had seen the Lannisters tear each other apart, so she knew quite well that family did not necessarily equal safety. Despite the fact that she knew Jon to be a trustworthy sort, one couldn’t know how another had changed after life and all its terrors had gotten ahold of them. She had certainly come home the same bright-eyed, naïve and hopeful girl she’d left as.

They both put their best foot forward after that. It was shortly after they’d started to rebuild Winterfell together that Jon was sent for by Edd to visit him at The Wall to sort out a few things. Jon hadn’t wanted to let down his once brother, though Sansa could tell he didn’t want to go. She didn’t want him to go either. Things felt rather precarious still. Winterfell was theirs, yes, but as Jon had pointed out, they had so many enemies now. 

She tried not to fret over him too much as he prepared to leave, but she still made sure he took with him what he needed. She remembered he’d watched her in amusement as she’d repacked his things and added a few extra items. 

“You do realize that this isn’t the first time I’ve had to travel and pack my own belongings?” he’d asked her. 

She looked at him a bit primly and smoothed the new cloak she’d sewn him on the nights she found sleep escaped her. “Yes, well, it’s been a while since you’ve had to do any such thing. I just want to make sure you’re prepared for anything.”

He leaned down and brushed a soft kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, Sansa.”

That had been kiss number two. 

Kiss number three had actually been from her, and it had been when he’d returned from The Wall. It had only been two moons since he’d been gone, but she didn’t care. She had been so happy to see him that she’d practically run to the courtyard to greet him. She hadn’t run of course, a lady did no such thing. She walked. Quickly. It reminded her of the times her father would return from a long journey and Cat would be there to greet him with a big smile on her face. 

When Jon climbed down from his horse, Sansa was there, barely able to contain herself from launching herself at him. He grinned at her as though he knew what she was about. 

“I’m very happy to see you returned in one piece, Your Grace,” she said. 

“Jon,” he corrected her. 

“I do know what your name is, Your Grace.”

He shot her a look and she bit her lip to keep from grinning too wide. When they were inside the castle, and away from prying eyes, Sansa leapt into his arms and kissed his cheek. Jon laughed and held her tightly against him, lifting her off her feet. When he set her back down, he still held on. 

“I missed you, Sansa,” he said on a sigh. He sounded both weary and relieved. 

“Did you?” she asked hopefully. 

“Very much. Did you miss me?”

She pulled back and looked up at him. “Could you not tell?”

He grinned and leaned in closer. Sansa’s heart began to pound. Did he mean to kiss her? But then he just rested his cheek against hers and Sansa held onto him tightly as the realization that she would have let him kiss roiled through her. Plus, the disappointment that he hadn’t. 

When Jon put distance between them for a while Sansa was certain that he had meant to kiss her. She gave him time to work out this new development, and she did the same. 

By the end of the next moon’s turn though, they were back to normal. In fact, they had grown even closer. They ate meals together when their separate duties allowed them to, and they always finished the day together. 

At night they would sit in Sansa’s solar together and discuss the day. Jon would sometimes brood as he stared into the fire, and Sansa would sew and keep a close eye on him lest his brooding go for on too long. 

If anyone at Winterfell was asked, they would say that they would often hear Lady Sansa’s laughter ringing through the halls. They would also say that it was her brother, the King in the North, who made her laugh thus. Then there was the King and how he would watch over Lady Sansa so devotedly. The people of Winterfell knew what perhaps the King and his Lady did not. 

They were deeply in love with one another. 

They spoke freely to one another always, and even Sansa who minded every propriety let them all fall by the wayside when she’d visit Jon in his bedchamber to discuss matters with him. He had even been known to sit close by as she bathed. The Lady always had a screen between them of course, but still. 

When the Dragon Queen came, Sansa had feared all they’d built would be torn down again. 

She remembered screaming in terror when one of Daenerys’ dragons had huffed down a ball of fire before Winterfell and Jon had been under it. 

He’d survived. Unscathed. Unburnt. 

Thus came the discovery that Jon was half Targaryen. His mother had been Lyanna Stark, and his father, Rhaegar Targaryen. 

She and Jon were cousins, not siblings. 

Upon this discovery, Jon had retreated to the Godswood. Sansa had let him go, knowing he needed time to process this, to make peace with it. 

When it began to grow dark, she went to him to draw him out. The first thing he did when he saw her was storm over to her, take her in his arms, and kiss her. That was kiss number four. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he breathed, holding her close and making her dizzy with his passion. 

“I wanted you to for so long,” she confessed breathlessly. 

“Sansa Stark, will you be my wife?” he asked with a hopeful smile. 

“Yes,” she said and threw her arms around him joyously. 

That night, Jon gave her another kind of kiss. Her fifth kiss. 

“Not all kisses,” he’d told her later that night as he’d pushed her skirts up and pulled down her smallclothes, “have to be on the lips, the forehead, or the cheeks.”

Sansa decided she didn’t care what kind of kisses Jon gave her, just as long as he kept giving them.


End file.
